


You and Me

by AlexisJane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Bonding, Knifeplay, M/M, Schmoop, Very Light Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisJane/pseuds/AlexisJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And like Sam said. "It was only ever you and me anyway."</p>
<p>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p>
<p>Spoilers for 9:01</p>
<p>Fill for the spn_otpkink meme.</p>
<p>Disclaimer - These are my words but all my base are belong to Kripke, Sera, Ben or whoever so don't sue me. It's just for fun.<br/>Also the 'event' inspired by a tv play I saw a million years ago that I cannot even remember clearly other than it happened and scarred me for life. That 'idea' is theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Me

Notes -  
Fill for the spn_otpkink meme.  
The prompt was  
 _Instead of letting an angel in to 'fix' Sam, Dean ties their life forces together. Being soulmates allows his body to keep Sam's going even after the damage the trials did. Dean doesn't tell Sam about it, but constant soul contact tends to translate into physical reaction. Dean can now feel when Sam is feeling pissed at him, and the warm rush of gooey, tingles when Sam feels affectionate towards his brother.  
And Dean isn't going to think about how good his own soul feels rubbing up against Sam's constantly. It gives him wicked boners and makes him want to do very naughty things with his brother. Top/Bottom dynamics are up to author. Just no mean, hate sex or 'punishment' sex._

 

** You and Me **

 

"What the hell did you do?"  
"Like you said, they ain't no me if there ain't no you."  
"Well it looks like there's not going to be you _or_ me anymore."  
"If you think about it, it was only ever you _and_ me anyway."

*****

When Dean woke up he was on the floor of the hospital room.  
The pain radiated out from the back of his head in waves, making his vision fuzzy and clouded every time he tried to pries his eyes open. He was aware of the nurses and doctors pouring in, a wave of blue scrubs, dragging carts laden with machinery that wasn't going to do a damn thing to help. Not now.

Then there were hands grabbing at his arms, dragging him up, fingers on his carotid searching for a pulse, someone lifting his eyelids and yelling into his face,

"Can you hear me?! Mr. Dougherty! Open your eyes! Can you hear me?!"

But it was hard to hear over the screams. Over Sammy's screams.  
Blood curdling, lungfuls of pain spewing out as the medical staff tried their best to stop him from bucking off the bed. His arms flailing, tangling in IV lines. His legs kicking and spasming like they might snap from the effort.  
But he wasn't breaking.  
He was mending.  
Dean could feel it. Feel it through Sam's soul radiating out to the point where it joined his.

He could practically see the energy running across, from him to Sam, coating the burnt up organs in Sam's body, not so much fixing them as cradling them, soothing them and it was agonising.  
It was _agonising_. And that's why he was screaming. Not just Sam. Dean too. He could barely stand it. It was like hellfire. So of course, he knew he could stand it. Because he'd done it before. For Sam. Because it was the only way. He didn't have a choice. And it was working.  
It was actually working.

 

_When the doctor had finished telling him all about the internal damage and comas and how Sam was in God's hands, Dean felt like he'd been gutted. Like the man had physically reached inside him and scooped him out. He stood hollow outside Sam's room watching people bustle down the corridor, not knowing quite where to turn.  
Then he looked up and saw it and thought if ever there was a sign, this was it. He walked down the corridor, brushing past the kid wearing the paper crown who was standing at the door to the chapel and headed out to the parking lot. Everyone else may have been gone but he had the King of Hell in his trunk and he wasn't afraid to use him._

 

It worked better than he could have imagined. It took twelve hours for him to be back on his feet although he'd felt fine much sooner but he was recovering for two now so he wanted to be careful.

Sam took a little longer. It was a week before Dean got to wheel him out to the car, Sam bitching about 'why can't I walk' the whole way, Dean smirking the whole time.  
By then, he'd already started to notice it. Nothing like that first realisation, no sweeping flows of energy or great tangles of soul-on-soul action.  
Just glimpses. Sam is happy. Sam is uncomfortable.

Side effects, Crowley had said. Nothing specific just side effects.

It was weird and made him uneasy to begin with but Dean quickly started to reframe them in his mind as perks. It was certainly a perk to be able to get within three feet of Sam's hospital room and just know what kind of mood he was in. No surprise bitchfaces when he opened the door.

Except 'knowing' didn't really define it. It was more like feeling it but without experiencing it. Like putting your cold hand in hot water, knowing, feeling that it's hot without being hot yourself. Whatever it was it would leech into him a fraction but it wouldn't become him.

It was awesome.  
Dean started to think that maybe psychics weren't really psychic, maybe they'd just attached their souls to people and could just tell how they were feeling.

And it was kind of fun. The look on Sam's face and the way his soul would stutter when he'd say "Look I know you're worried" or show up with Twinkies because that's just what Sammy was craving or just up and leave when Sammy was getting tired without saying a word other than."You sleep. I'll see you later.".  
It was fun.

And it was more than nice, that glow of warmth, like a blanket of sweetness reaching out to him and enveloping him as soon as Sam set eyes on him. He wished he could have felt this his whole life. Being loved like that. it felt incredible. He didn't know how he had existed without it.

Not so much the doubt and worry. Dean was used to the look on his face, the crumpled brow and worried eyes but in Sam's soul, in their soul, the feeling of the grey-green pressure weighing it down, grinding and wearing away. It was suffocating.  
And he wanted to run but he knew Sam couldn't so he'd just try to push it out, push away the clouds of pain and breathe certainty and calm through his soul into Sam's and sometimes he thought that it might even be working.

And Sam got better, _was_ better and they carried on and Dean managed to persuade Sam that field work should maybe wait for a while until he was back on form and couldn't quite believe when Sam capitulated so easily and everything was fine. More than fine.  
Just…fine. And it didn't matter that Dean had started to feel…things.

At first he thought it might be staying couped up in the bunker so he started taking extended supply runs but proximity, or lack of it, didn't seem to make any difference. He could still feel it.  
He figured it was just a soul thing. That having their souls so close, rubbing up against each other, merging and exchanging energy, it was just intense and intimate and nothing to do with them at all really.  
Nothing to do with Sam because Sam was his brother and he knew he didn't feel about him that way.  
And it sure as hell wasn't coming from him because he'd dealt with all those feelings a long time ago. They had been just fucked up teenage fantasies that he put behind him. Far, far behind him. So it couldn't be him.  
Mostly he fought it, tried to shut it out but sometimes it just felt so good. He couldn't help but let himself ride the wave of feeling, let himself get swallowed up and wallow in the heat and light and it was almost like Sam's hands were on him when he came.

Side effects, Crowley had said. That's all it was.

_"And this will work?"_   
_"Yes, it should"_   
_"Should?!"_   
_"Jesus! What else do you expect! You're not talking about 'Take two aspirin, see me in the morning'! I just trade in souls. Stitching them together that's all theory. So yes. It should work. Whether it will, who knows. Try and think of yourself as a pioneer. Just remember to mention me when you collect your Nobel prize. Whatever happens there'll be side effects."_   
_"What kind of side effects?"_   
_"What part of theoretical is beyond your understanding? You want me to write the instructions in crayon for you?"_   
_"Well, you better pray one of the side effects isn't me losing my memory. Don't wanna forget where I parked the car."_   
_"Oh come on! You're not gonna leave me in here!"_   
_"Mind your head, Fergus. Don't wanna scratch the paintwork."_

*****

"So are you ready to talk to me about it yet?"

Dean jumped despite having felt Sam behind him, vacillating between anticipation and doubt for the last hour while they were supposed to be researching. He knew something was coming. But he wasn't ready for this.

"About what?" He made a point of slowly turning the page, of looking like he was truly concentrating and genuinely distracted. Sam walked slowly to him and sat down, his back to the table, letting his legs stretch out and leant back in the chair, ducking his head to peer into Dean's face,

"You know, I know you're not reading right?"

Dean placed his hands on the table either side of the book to steady himself. The heat coming from the point where their souls merged was overwhelming. It seemed to reach deep down into his belly and deeper into his brain making him feel stupid and sharp at the same time. He tried to block it out but it was hard.

"Well, I would be if you didn't keep interrupting me."

"That's not true.' Sam's voice was soft. A soft, gentle, firm wave passed through Dean, moved over him like a giant hand stroking down, through him. He tried to block it out but it was hard. And when he shifted in his seat, he realised he was hard too. "I know it's not true."

There was something in the way Sam's voice felt (sounded) that made Dean pause. He swallowed and let his tongue moisten his lower lip as he looked up,

"Really..."

Sam leaned over and smiled, his soul draping over Dean feeling hot and cold at the same time. "I can feel it."

Dean's heart stuttered. The warmth from Sam seem to back off but didn't vanish. But he wanted to. He pushed himself back, the chair rolling smooth away from the table but Sam's hand grasped his elbow and pulled him back as he tried to stand up. Sam's voice was desperate,

"Please…Dean…I don't know what you did…but we need to talk about it…about this."

Dean wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. There was only Sam. There was no fighting it. And Sam knew. Could feel it. So there wasn't really any point it denying…anything. Defeated, he let Sam pull him down and just stared blankly at him, tears welling,

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I couldn't let you go. I couldn't. I'm sorry."

Sam took hold of the arms of the chair and pulled Dean towards him, slotting him in between his legs, getting as close as possible and brought his hands to Dean's face.

"I'm not. I'm not sorry at all" And Dean knew (felt) that he meant it.

Dean felt Sam move, felt them come together before it even happened. Like their bodies were somehow out of synch, like their souls were taking the lead and they just had to follow.

Sam mouth on his, their lips parting, spit mingling and mixed like their life force. The heat from their souls pushing shirts off shoulders, desperately needing to be naked, raw, open and inside one another.

By the time they made it to Sam's room, they were wet with spit and pre-come and sweat, slipping against each other, not desperate to feel every inch of each other because they already could, their souls grinding hard, sparking bright and hot, the perfect sensation fluid over them so when Dean pressed into Sam, it flooded both of them over and over until they came, screaming nothing into each others mouths and it felt like oblivion.

And the days and weeks passed. At first they kept researching, trying to co-ordinate hunters out in the world. There was still work to be done, people to be saved and the whole angel fallout to deal with but they seemed to spend more and more time wrapped up in each other. They couldn't help it.

It only took one thought, not even a whole thought, just a brush of one and then one side of their shared soul would be dragging the other over, teasing and tempting with warm promises and bright sensation, until they were in each others arms.  
Dean's mouth on Sam. Sam inside Dean. Consuming each other. Rocking and releasing and then starting all over again. And they answered the phone less and less and touched more and more.

*****

"Are you ready to talk to me about it yet?"

Sam's head was resting on Dean's chest, watching his own finger trace patterns in the pale hair and white fluid on Dean's belly. And although he mumbled the words, Dean felt them loud and clear. He lazily pushed the sweat-damp straggling hairs back behind Sam's ear.

"I thought we did?"

Sam huffed out a laugh "No. You blowing me 'til I pass out doesn't actually constitute a conversation."

Dean laughed " No I guess not…although I'm not totally sure I got my point across. Maybe we should talk about that again."

Sam was pushing off, sitting up and leaning away. If Dean hadn't been able to feel the lingering caress of his soul, he would have thought the worst. Would have thought he'd pushed Sam away, that he'd hurt but all he knew was…curiosity. Sam rummaged through the stack of books next to the bed and pulled out a piece of paper. Dean dragged himself upright and leant back against the headboard as Sam handed it to him. He stared at it.

"Where did you find it."

Sam twisted round, pulling his legs in and sitting cross-legged, naked and musky but with that childlike look of concern on his face. "It was in with my stuff from the hospital. They must have thought it was mine."

Dean thought he might cry and Sam thought so too and took his hand. Dean whispered. "You've known all this time?"

Sam shrugged "Not exactly….where did you…?"

Dean doesn't think he can get the word out but manages a croak, "Crowley"

Sam nods "I researched it but there's nothing like this out there."

"Even he wasn't sure it would work. We're due a Nobel, apparently."

Sam smiles and wipes the tear from Dean's cheek. "Will you show me? How you did it?" Dean just stares and wills his head to shake. "Please…Dean…I just want to know."

Sam begs and promises and his soul tugs at Dean's until he ends up in Sam's lap. Sam's hips hard against his ass, deeper than should be possible, making Dean's head swim and the sweat seem to pour off him.  
Sam reciting the words, breathy and hot in his mouth, _Duabus animabus fieri unum. Et duobus corporibus fieri unum.  Aeterna quod fuit semper…_ as he moves inside him, pressing harder and deeper, slow and desperate and intoxicating.

Then feeling the sharp blade on his chest. Watching Sam peel the slice of paper-thin skin so surely, not like when the blade had been Dean's hand in the hospital, hands shaking and cutting ragged chunks from Sam, from himself. And he watches mesmerised as Sam takes the offering in his mouth and swallows it and then moves the blade to his own chest. He gasps as he opens his mouth, holding out his tongue for Sam to place Sam's flesh on it, tasting nothing but the sweat and skin that he's already sucked from Sam tonight but he swallows it down.

"What were the words?" Sam throws the knife to the ground. His voice is rasping. Hardly able to speak. Desperately trying not to pound hard up into Dean. Trying to wait. His fingers clawing at his back. "What were the words you chose for us?"

There was a gap at the end of the incantation that Dean had to fill. _'Something meaningful',_ Crowley had said.  
In the hospital, looking down at Sam, he realised he hadn't prepared anything and had just opened his mouth and trusted that what came out was enough.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

And they say the words. Whisper them. Grunt them out. Scream them. And the words go on and on and on until they're meaningless and beyond it and when Dean comes he can't tell who he is anymore. Where Sam begins and he ends. And he thinks he's blind for a moment and truly, absolutely doesn't care because he can still see Sam and really that's all there is. That's all there ever has been.

*****

The first morning, there's shouting and recriminations and fear and despair.  
 _What the hell did you do?_

When Sam goes to make coffee and take a piss and somehow can't move, and Dean from his sleep haze tells him to quit tugging, it's seriously confusing until Sam pulls the sheet away.  
The way the flesh of their hips has melded together without a seam would be kind of amazing if it wasn't so horrifying. But it's magic and it's not as if they haven't come up against this kind of thing before. Well. Maybe not this exactly but they'll figure it out.  
But after a day of research and bickering and _'goddamit if you say "it's conjoined not Siamese" one more friggin' time…so help me!'_ , neither one really has the will to keep looking when the other is so close and warm and they fall back into bed and touch and suck and fuck until sleep overtakes them.

The second morning, there's only fear.  
Joined at the hip is one thing. Joined from nipple to knee is another. They opt for the hands on approach. It's not like they've suffered worse.  
But after Sam passes out, Dean can feel it's not from the blood loss. The more he cuts, as the gap opens between the flesh, so too a gap opens in the join of their souls. He won't risk it. Won't risk Sam. He has cut souls before so he knows when to stop, despite going on so long his own body is pale and clammy and shaking. As he passes out, he prays that if the shock kills them, that his soul will at least stay one with Sam's.

They talk about calling someone. But there isn't anyone. Not now.

Bobby could probably help even though they'd get called every idjit under the sun.  
Ash too could probably come up with something. Samuel might have had something in his little black book.  
Even Dad. Dad would have known what to do. But they're lost. Gone.

And Crowley is long gone. Cas too. Maybe if they tried calling. Tried praying. Maybe later. Because right now Sam's remaining fingers are gently stroking, and Dean can still open his lips enough to let his tongue slide over their flesh and their souls flock like birds dancing in the sky and it's too beautiful to resist.

Because when you've been a part of someone, there's really no going back.

And like Sam said. "It was only ever you _and_ me anyway."

 


End file.
